


Cigarettes

by BlackPlagued



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Light-Hearted, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackPlagued/pseuds/BlackPlagued
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flattering Louis is something Lestat simply cannot help. Louis doesn't really take it seriously but humors him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarettes

It was reaching the midnight hour as I closed in on my victim. The hunt, the capture, the heating moment of the feed, it was not carried out in complete privacy that intimacy, but the observing presence was one I knew well and the acknowledgment of their pursuit was especially enjoyable. I let the body slip to the alley ground as I heard the subtle footsteps approaching. My eyes flicked to his lavishly green ones. My Louis.

"Why do you wait to reveal yourself until the near end?" I ask bluntly though not at all forcefully. It actually gave me an added thrill to the feed, and I was sure he knew this. He gave no response, instead he bent forward giving me a tender cheek kiss. His equivalent of "Honey, I'm home," after so many days, even weeks apart from me. I accepted it willingly, like any devout housewife would. 

"What is that?" He asked looking to my hand. I looked myself, unsure what he meant.

"It was in his hand when I took him." I replied looking down at the gleaming metal. A cigarette case. I hadn't recalled the moment it left the dead man's hands into mine, but I opened it now, looking at the short row of paper rolled tobacco. On a whim, I removed one along with the disposable lighter that was neatly tucked in, and putting it to my lips lit the tip, letting the smoke ease into my lungs. I instantly recalled the bitterness of it. The pungent taste on my tongue even as I exhaled. It tasted the same as ever if not milder due to the past lack of filter. Louis watched me with the same observant eyes, never questioning or critical, merely watching. I held the cigarette out to him, curious of his response. After a moment he gingerly grabbed the end.

“Despicable thing, really,” He commented, holding the filter between a finger and thumb. He adjusted it to the comfortable position between the primary two fingers and bringing the cigarette to his mouth took a slow careful drag. The plume of smoke thinned out as he exhaled, caressing the frame of his face before carrying to the sky. I quietly admired the charm of it. “but strangely satisfying even still.”

“A habit you might keep, perhaps? It suits you.” I said with a soft smirk. It wasn’t exactly an eye roll that he gave, more of a sideward glance to the off direction, but it essentially amounted to the same thing. He meant to toss it down to the pavement but I neared him, clasping his wrist before he would and placing a hand on his shoulder gently, lovingly, I continued, “ It brings imaginative potential in you. It could suggest you to be the struggling poet. A frustrated visionary intent on contributing to the world a dire sense of rationality, the crux being it is conveyed through complex verses never _truly_ deciphered by the populace.”

His eyebrow rose questioningly, then a small smile claimed his face. A lovely low chuckle left him.

“Ah, then it was a cigarette that had been missing all along.” Louis mused good-humoredly with a soft smirk of his own, but he held onto the rolled tobacco, watching the fine gray threads rise from it himself. He lifted it to his mouth again, giving me an exceptionally deep and thoughtful glance as he inhaled; still the amusement was visible in his eyes. I let out a mild laugh, shaking my head gently. I took him into a full embrace, my arms loosely wrapping around his waist.

“My, and I thought humor had left you long ago. Delightful surprise.” I said at his ear. I felt the palm of his hand against my back as he returned the hold, the other hand still occupied with the cigarette. “No, Mon Cher, It was never needed to complete the ‘look’. Only a prop, accentuating. An aesthetic. Your very eyes encapsulate the core of that embellished vision of mine. The importance of it.”

“Perhaps you are more the poet than I.” He whispered, his hand slipping up into the curls of my hair. “You could have simply told me that it was pleasing to the eye.”

I laughed again, and held him tighter, his yielding body mine for the moment, “That is only playing into the poet’s crux, my love. There is so much more to it.”


End file.
